It had been a long journey for her, she had seen a lot of things and felt even more. She had ventured to the darkest corners of her mind and there was a time that she had wallowed in her sorrows, bathing herself in her own misery. She had emerged from these dark places with cuts on her arm, for a battle worth winning was never won without a few scars.
It had taken her over a year to find the surface after clawing through the dark waters of her emotions, crippling fear had iced her veins and as she breathed the cool air once again she realized just what she had done to get there. To breathe, to be alive, she had fought with everything she had to just become that once again. She had fought herself, too, because somewhere along the line she had convinced herself that she wasn't even worth saving.
Now, as she walked on the shore, dripping wet and exhausted, she turned and gazed at the stormy waters that rolled and crashed with a thunderous sound that had echoed in her ears for what felt like an eternity. With her chest slowly rising and falling she allowed a small smile to stretch upon her lips, the journey home was a long one, but she had made it through the storm. She had conquered the worst she could think of, she was scarred and bruised, but she wasn't dead. She stared for a moment, proud. No one had helped her, she had screamed as loud as she could but it was as if her mouth had been filled with cotton because no one had thrown her a life jacket, no one had even acknowledged the fact that she had been drowning in the first place. But here she was, all on her own account, and she was glad.
She turned, expecting nothing from the world except pain in the future, but she knew she could handle it, anything it threw at her she could handle, she was sure. Confident, she took a few steps in the sand, determination racking through her being because she would not drown again.
Too quick though everything changed, as life tends to do, and she found herself looking into the eyes of a boy. He stood there and looked back at her for a moment, then his eyes wandered to her wrist where her scars lied and he brushed his fingertips against the pale skin that resided there. A shiver ran through her body, chasing after it an emotion she had never felt before. She had built walls around herself, to protect herself from drowning again because she had not gone into the water by her choosing but had been thrown into it, then held down to choke on the water that surrounded her. Walls she had constructed so that no one could see her, so that no one could reach her. Sure, she would appear cold, maybe even distant, but it was all for the greater good, she needed them, they were her only protection. But as the boy looked back at her with eyes the same color of the water she had been fighting through, the walls she had taken so much time to construct were invisible.
He walked toward her effortlessly, as if he had found a hidden door in her fortress, one she hadn't even known existed and he held the key. She had never been so terrified and thrilled in the same exact moment. Terrified because this stranger, this boy, had the key to her, he had full access to her and she was his to hold or throw away. Terrified because she was vulnerable to him, that he had all the power in the universe to thrown her back into the roaring ocean. Thrilled because it didn't matter what he could do, because the feeling he provoked in her by just being there sent her veins aflame.
"You're beautiful," he said as if it were the only true fact in the whole world, his eyes unwavering as they stared into hers. She was dripping wet, weak from swimming, scarred and bruised and he thought she was beautiful? How could it be that someone as glorious as he, someone as graceful and strong could think that someone so unworthy was beautiful? Her knees trembled, and he smiled at her and took her hand, spinning her to face the ocean once again.
"I can't," she mumbled, looking at the ripping waves, "I'm afraid,"
"You don't have to be," he said, squeezing his hand where his fingers intertwined with hers so perfectly, "because this time you have me."
Sunday, February 5, 2012
Wednesday, February 1, 2012
Crime and Punishment
I don't know much about love. I don't know if it even exists. I've seen people "in love" then at the slightest conflict or amount of time it shatters and splinters underneath the firm grips of their hands. I've seen "love" tear people down to their knees only to bleed and burn in sorrow after they were hurt so badly they couldn't get back up. From what I know love can't actually kill someone.
But I don't know much about love.
I know what love isn't, though. I know that it's not like having a partner in crime, or like the rush of running from the government when you've broken the law. I know love isn't easy, but neither is making a living.
People think sometimes that Rodney and I are in love, I never correct them, because to their eyes I'm sure that's what it seems like, but we have something more than that. Something unbreakable. Something as concrete as the amount of time needed to serve in jail, or the amount of money lying in the bottom of a vault. Love isn't that. Love isn't concrete.
But partners in crime? That's concrete.
"Violet," Rodney hissed lowly, he knew I was having an off day, that I was thinking too much like some girls do. I had always told myself I wasn't like other girls, that's how I convinced myself to steer away from un-needed emotions. I was stronger than that, smarter than that, better than that. I almost said sorry, but then I remembered that Rodney told me that criminals never apologize, of course he was right.
"Hm?" I asked, making eye contact with those brooding brown eyes.
"Do you have your head in the game? We can't go stomping around inside the City Bank unless you're ready to go." Rodney's face was cold, he always got distant like that before we went on a job, he separated himself from the world, like peeling a sticker off a piece of paper. I had always been envious of that, I never could completely detach myself like he could, that's why he was a killer and I wasn't, he always said. I didn't mind death, death was just another part of the law we had to run from. Just another cop with a gun, and I had outrun too many of those too count. Death didn't scare me, pain did.
"Of course I have my head in the game," I said a little coldly, lifting the strap of the small bag higher on my shoulder. Explosives were our signature, I take credit for that idea, we'd always blow the place halfway to kingdom come after we got the goods, it left less room for evidence to be found, though we never left any behind.
"Good, we can't make any mistakes." He turned back to the corner of the wall, his light brown hair ruffling in the breeze the open window provided lazily. It was a warm night, August was my favorite month, it reminded me of the summers I spent in Missouri chasing fireflies and staying up late to go to the small carnivals around the country side. This was going to be the last robbery of the year, Rodney always liked to hide out somewhere exclusive for the whole winter, "Robbery is a summer's job," he always said, though it felt like summer all year round to me, we always went some where tropical.
"How long is the gap between camera swivels?" I whispered, staring at his neck and profile because I couldn't peer around the corner with him.
"There's a 3 second gap behind each column, they're consecutive with 2 seconds in between, so we're going to have to move fast. I'll go, then you'll go. Mind the bag," Then just like that he was gone, around the corner like he had never been there at all. I silently moved to his place and watched him wind behind the columns like a greedy serpent, it made him look like he could spit poison if he really wanted to. I blinked twice and he was to the other side of the large marble room, his face stern and expressionless. I hated when he did that, it always made his eyes seem closer to black then to the soft brown they actually were. He whipped his hand forward, my signal to follow, and i did it effortlessly.
Speed and stealth had always been something I was good at, I could be quiet and quick, that was easy. Talking, though, saying how I felt, that was difficult. That's why Rodney and I were so close, he knew what I thought, we were similar in a lot of ways, and I didn't need to speak much. Rodney was the only one I spoke to anyways, it was just him and I, but I liked it like that.
I slid softly into him, unable to keep the grin off my face, that's where we were opposites. I was good at what I did because I enjoyed it, Rodney was good because he was focused. He didn't like it when I smiled during a job, so he scowled at me. I hated it, because when he did it he always made me feel like a little girl, when I wasn't. I was only 2 years younger than him, but he thought he had some superiority over me, that was something my Mom had always told me men had hardwired into them, the sense that they were better.
"Violet," he said lowly, maybe like a parent would. I narrowed my eyes at him, he knew I hated that.
"Keep it up and I'm going to take all the money for myself," I hissed, but he knew as well as I did that wasn't true. Partners in crime were in it together, they made the money together and, if it happened, they got punished together too. To be a criminal you had to be smart, clever, know that you can't trust anyone but that you can drag them down with you. To be in love you had to be dumb, no one in their right mind would love, it's too much risk. Too much chance.
But I didn't know much about love.
"The vault is right behind those wooden doors in the back. There should be two security guards in there, I'll take them out and then you can crack the code." Rodney said, he didn't seem as nervous anymore.
"Alright," I whispered back, adrenaline spiking my veins. Rodney moved forward, swift like a ghost ready to scare someone, and ripped through the door. He let it shut behind him, and I could hear the muffled screams of someone. I knew it wasn't Rodney, I had heard him scream once, it reminded me of a man who's soul had been ripped out of him to literally be dragged to hell. It was terrifying, something I had always remembered and saw in my worst nightmares, I hated to see him in pain. I heard that people in love hurt as bad as their lover did when in pain, as if they shared the same skin. That didn't make sense though, no one could feel someone else's pain. Every pain felt was a source of your own, the aching in my heart when I saw Rodney upset wasn't the same pain he felt when he was actually hurt. The notion that people in love hurt with each other, that's ridiculous.
But I don't know much about that.
There was a thud against the floor in the adjacent room but I could barely hear it because my heart was pounding so loud. Doubt crept into my mind for half a moment before the door swung open and then I was flooded with relief when Rodney stuck his head around the corner. He was smiling now, the first time I had ever seen him smile on a job. I smiled back, I couldn't help it, but this time Rodney didn't scowl at me, which made my stomach hurt in a weird way.
I walked through the door silently, then I saw why he had been smiling, there was blood, lots of it. Rodney had always thought blood was beautiful, I would never forget the time I walked into the hotel room to find him with his arm sliced vertically, the blood pumping out of him and into the bath tub while he watched in fascination. He wasn't afraid or in pain, he looked up at me and smiled, like a child would have if his mother had walked in on him eating cookies out of the forbidden jar, the smile that said "I know this is wrong, but I don't give a shit what you think". I had taken him to the hospital where they had given him 13 stitches, that was Rodney's lucky number. I had adopted it as my own, our lucky number.
"God damn it," I whispered without having any real kind of regret toward it.
"Don't worry," Rodney said as he stroked my hair, "we never get caught." The look in his eye was made just for me, those brooding brown eyes always seemed a shade lighter when he was looking at me. From what I had been told, love was something that you would know when it was found. That there was a certain look or spark, that when the kiss came around there were fireworks behind your eyelids. I had never seen fireworks and I had kissed Rodney a lot. The worst that happened when I kissed him was that my heart quickened, like it did when we were on a job.
But I wasn't in love with thievery, either.
I nodded and went to the safe, my black gloves a second skin I was more comfortable in than my actual porcelain layer underneath. The safe clicked open effortlessly, never even locked. Panic and fear flashed hot down my spine, filling my veins with a toxin that made my muscles shaky. It was too late, though, my body had reacted too slowly. The thundering boom of the gun had already gone off, the earsplitting sound of the crack when his skull hit the floor had already speared into my chest. As soon as the sound registered in my mind my body went cold, all the warmth I had ever felt in my life, the sunny days on the beach next to him, it was all ripped away.
I turned, the sound still in the air, everything was a fog except for him. Ink in my eyes, masking the surrounding, blotting it out so there was just him. Him. Motionless, on the floor, lying in a pool of his favorite color, his skin as pale as the marble he laid on. I had no lungs to breathe, no mind to think, no heat to live, and the heart I once had would no longer beat. Not without him.
One time I heard someone say that true love was like "Getting away with murder, you're afraid of getting caught because you know you have something that you should be punished for. True love, something so good you can't believe life hasn't stolen it away yet."
I didn't know much about that, about life punishing someone for love.
But getting away with murder, we had done that. We had gotten away with murder for years, but now it didn't matter, because it had all caught up to us in a matter of seconds. They said love could end within seconds, shatter and break in just a moment.
Yeah, I knew everything about that.
But I don't know much about love.
I know what love isn't, though. I know that it's not like having a partner in crime, or like the rush of running from the government when you've broken the law. I know love isn't easy, but neither is making a living.
People think sometimes that Rodney and I are in love, I never correct them, because to their eyes I'm sure that's what it seems like, but we have something more than that. Something unbreakable. Something as concrete as the amount of time needed to serve in jail, or the amount of money lying in the bottom of a vault. Love isn't that. Love isn't concrete.
But partners in crime? That's concrete.
"Violet," Rodney hissed lowly, he knew I was having an off day, that I was thinking too much like some girls do. I had always told myself I wasn't like other girls, that's how I convinced myself to steer away from un-needed emotions. I was stronger than that, smarter than that, better than that. I almost said sorry, but then I remembered that Rodney told me that criminals never apologize, of course he was right.
"Hm?" I asked, making eye contact with those brooding brown eyes.
"Do you have your head in the game? We can't go stomping around inside the City Bank unless you're ready to go." Rodney's face was cold, he always got distant like that before we went on a job, he separated himself from the world, like peeling a sticker off a piece of paper. I had always been envious of that, I never could completely detach myself like he could, that's why he was a killer and I wasn't, he always said. I didn't mind death, death was just another part of the law we had to run from. Just another cop with a gun, and I had outrun too many of those too count. Death didn't scare me, pain did.
"Of course I have my head in the game," I said a little coldly, lifting the strap of the small bag higher on my shoulder. Explosives were our signature, I take credit for that idea, we'd always blow the place halfway to kingdom come after we got the goods, it left less room for evidence to be found, though we never left any behind.
"Good, we can't make any mistakes." He turned back to the corner of the wall, his light brown hair ruffling in the breeze the open window provided lazily. It was a warm night, August was my favorite month, it reminded me of the summers I spent in Missouri chasing fireflies and staying up late to go to the small carnivals around the country side. This was going to be the last robbery of the year, Rodney always liked to hide out somewhere exclusive for the whole winter, "Robbery is a summer's job," he always said, though it felt like summer all year round to me, we always went some where tropical.
"How long is the gap between camera swivels?" I whispered, staring at his neck and profile because I couldn't peer around the corner with him.
"There's a 3 second gap behind each column, they're consecutive with 2 seconds in between, so we're going to have to move fast. I'll go, then you'll go. Mind the bag," Then just like that he was gone, around the corner like he had never been there at all. I silently moved to his place and watched him wind behind the columns like a greedy serpent, it made him look like he could spit poison if he really wanted to. I blinked twice and he was to the other side of the large marble room, his face stern and expressionless. I hated when he did that, it always made his eyes seem closer to black then to the soft brown they actually were. He whipped his hand forward, my signal to follow, and i did it effortlessly.
Speed and stealth had always been something I was good at, I could be quiet and quick, that was easy. Talking, though, saying how I felt, that was difficult. That's why Rodney and I were so close, he knew what I thought, we were similar in a lot of ways, and I didn't need to speak much. Rodney was the only one I spoke to anyways, it was just him and I, but I liked it like that.
I slid softly into him, unable to keep the grin off my face, that's where we were opposites. I was good at what I did because I enjoyed it, Rodney was good because he was focused. He didn't like it when I smiled during a job, so he scowled at me. I hated it, because when he did it he always made me feel like a little girl, when I wasn't. I was only 2 years younger than him, but he thought he had some superiority over me, that was something my Mom had always told me men had hardwired into them, the sense that they were better.
"Violet," he said lowly, maybe like a parent would. I narrowed my eyes at him, he knew I hated that.
"Keep it up and I'm going to take all the money for myself," I hissed, but he knew as well as I did that wasn't true. Partners in crime were in it together, they made the money together and, if it happened, they got punished together too. To be a criminal you had to be smart, clever, know that you can't trust anyone but that you can drag them down with you. To be in love you had to be dumb, no one in their right mind would love, it's too much risk. Too much chance.
But I didn't know much about love.
"The vault is right behind those wooden doors in the back. There should be two security guards in there, I'll take them out and then you can crack the code." Rodney said, he didn't seem as nervous anymore.
"Alright," I whispered back, adrenaline spiking my veins. Rodney moved forward, swift like a ghost ready to scare someone, and ripped through the door. He let it shut behind him, and I could hear the muffled screams of someone. I knew it wasn't Rodney, I had heard him scream once, it reminded me of a man who's soul had been ripped out of him to literally be dragged to hell. It was terrifying, something I had always remembered and saw in my worst nightmares, I hated to see him in pain. I heard that people in love hurt as bad as their lover did when in pain, as if they shared the same skin. That didn't make sense though, no one could feel someone else's pain. Every pain felt was a source of your own, the aching in my heart when I saw Rodney upset wasn't the same pain he felt when he was actually hurt. The notion that people in love hurt with each other, that's ridiculous.
But I don't know much about that.
There was a thud against the floor in the adjacent room but I could barely hear it because my heart was pounding so loud. Doubt crept into my mind for half a moment before the door swung open and then I was flooded with relief when Rodney stuck his head around the corner. He was smiling now, the first time I had ever seen him smile on a job. I smiled back, I couldn't help it, but this time Rodney didn't scowl at me, which made my stomach hurt in a weird way.
I walked through the door silently, then I saw why he had been smiling, there was blood, lots of it. Rodney had always thought blood was beautiful, I would never forget the time I walked into the hotel room to find him with his arm sliced vertically, the blood pumping out of him and into the bath tub while he watched in fascination. He wasn't afraid or in pain, he looked up at me and smiled, like a child would have if his mother had walked in on him eating cookies out of the forbidden jar, the smile that said "I know this is wrong, but I don't give a shit what you think". I had taken him to the hospital where they had given him 13 stitches, that was Rodney's lucky number. I had adopted it as my own, our lucky number.
"God damn it," I whispered without having any real kind of regret toward it.
"Don't worry," Rodney said as he stroked my hair, "we never get caught." The look in his eye was made just for me, those brooding brown eyes always seemed a shade lighter when he was looking at me. From what I had been told, love was something that you would know when it was found. That there was a certain look or spark, that when the kiss came around there were fireworks behind your eyelids. I had never seen fireworks and I had kissed Rodney a lot. The worst that happened when I kissed him was that my heart quickened, like it did when we were on a job.
But I wasn't in love with thievery, either.
I nodded and went to the safe, my black gloves a second skin I was more comfortable in than my actual porcelain layer underneath. The safe clicked open effortlessly, never even locked. Panic and fear flashed hot down my spine, filling my veins with a toxin that made my muscles shaky. It was too late, though, my body had reacted too slowly. The thundering boom of the gun had already gone off, the earsplitting sound of the crack when his skull hit the floor had already speared into my chest. As soon as the sound registered in my mind my body went cold, all the warmth I had ever felt in my life, the sunny days on the beach next to him, it was all ripped away.
I turned, the sound still in the air, everything was a fog except for him. Ink in my eyes, masking the surrounding, blotting it out so there was just him. Him. Motionless, on the floor, lying in a pool of his favorite color, his skin as pale as the marble he laid on. I had no lungs to breathe, no mind to think, no heat to live, and the heart I once had would no longer beat. Not without him.
One time I heard someone say that true love was like "Getting away with murder, you're afraid of getting caught because you know you have something that you should be punished for. True love, something so good you can't believe life hasn't stolen it away yet."
I didn't know much about that, about life punishing someone for love.
But getting away with murder, we had done that. We had gotten away with murder for years, but now it didn't matter, because it had all caught up to us in a matter of seconds. They said love could end within seconds, shatter and break in just a moment.
Yeah, I knew everything about that.
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